


this is me trying

by SolaSola



Category: Dimension 20 (Web Series)
Genre: Campaign 01 Season 02: Fantasy High Sophomore Year (Dimension 20), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fighters (D&D), Friendship, Gen, In that it takes place during the Maidens' spring break and no Bad Kids are present, Late Night Conversations, Missing Scene, Quests, Seven Maidens centric, The Red Waste, angry crying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:47:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26832412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolaSola/pseuds/SolaSola
Summary: The Red Waste, Antiope finds, is not a comforting place to angry cry. It’s the farthest thing from the forests around Elmville, which she would give anything to be back in right now. The night sky is freezing cold and way too big over the desert that’s ghastly dry and way too flat. There’s nothing comforting to hide in, nothing satisfying to attack except for rocks that are just going to hurt her if she tries to kick them because she’s too fucking weak and this is just pathetic.[sometimes the leader of the seven maidens needs to let herself angry cry and punch things in the middle of the Red Waste, and sometimes she needs a friend to hug her through it all]
Relationships: Antiope Jones & Katja Cleaver, Antiope Jones & Zelda Donovan
Comments: 14
Kudos: 35





	this is me trying

**Author's Note:**

> Usually my fics are gen but this one is teen mostly for sheer number of f-bombs, because these are rightfully angry and sad teenage girls. Also, mild warning for Antiope and Katja wishing bodily harm upon Gorgug? They're cursing out boys who mess with their party in general, with the information they have at this point in spring break, but heads up for our boy.

The Red Waste, Antiope finds, is not a comforting place to angry cry. It’s the farthest thing from the forests around Elmville, which she would give anything to be back in right now. The night sky is freezing cold and way too big over the desert that’s ghastly dry and way too flat. There’s nothing comforting to hide in, nothing satisfying to attack except for rocks that are just going to hurt her if she tries to kick them because she’s too fucking weak and this is just pathetic. 

It’s deeply unideal, but it’s four AM and Antiope can’t stop herself from crying, raggedy breathing and ugly sobs and kneeling on the ground slamming her fists into her bedroll just to take it out on something. It’s not even safe enough here for her to go that far out of earshot or out of the light of their camp, so she’d just dragged her bedroll out of the tent and bundled it up against a rock so she doesn’t crack open her knuckles here. 

Every minute she’s not asleep feels like she’s putting her whole party in danger because they need her tomorrow. They need her to lead this thing, they need her to be their voice of reason and their steady shot and not this madwoman sitting in the desert past midnight crying outside the tent. 

She’d thought she’d been okay, she’d thought she was doing okay for them. But it’d just come over her like a rogue wave as she was trying to make herself fall asleep, in between Katja and Sam as all the Maidens curled up in a big pile in their tent to stay warm. First the little things— _this is crazy, this quest is crazy, you lost a year of your life to a dragon and now you think you can come out here to hunt even more_ all swirling through her head. Then curling into herself, feeling alone in a pile of her best friends because _I need to get it together, Zelda needs me, Ostentatia and Danielle are fighting all the time, gods I can’t talk to any of them about any of this,_ trying not to shake Sam awake next to her with shuddering sobs. At some point she’d just given up and hauled her bedroll outside because she needed to take this out on _something_ before she exploded or shook herself apart. 

It doesn’t make any sense to be falling apart like this, and Antiope hates herself for it. She wishes she were a better adventurer than this, wishes with all her being her lungs could stop tearing her apart with sobs and her fists could stop slamming into this cloth. But she just feels so overwhelmed and every minute that she does she feels more and more angry at herself because _she’s not allowed to do this right now_. 

There’s something sinister about a dome of sky that’s just so big and cold and unforgiving, with constellations that are wrong made of stars that aren’t guiding or comforting this far from home. They twinkle down at her like nothing’s wrong, and Antiope hates the whole thing. It doesn’t do anything to the sky, but she slams both fists against her bedroll again. Like she can just attack and attack and it’ll somehow mean something when she finally tires herself out. 

Katja finds her, because of course she does. 

There’s a tall half-orc shaped shadow poking its head out of the tent flap. Antiope doesn’t even know how she’d make an effort to hide anything that’s going on, out here in darkness that she can’t even see in and Katja can; out here in the desert that she hates and that hates her right back, too flat and too big and too open. She wants to hide her face or curl up in a ball or tell her friend to go the fuck away, but she can’t think of anything that’d be mean enough to actually scare her off (because Katja is patient and brave and most importantly is not ugly crying as she punches a pillow at four AM. Right now, Katja is all the things Antiope wishes she was). Her next best option is to pretend like this is perfectly normal and she just pulls her knees up against her chest even as she hears Katja sit next to her. The act is ruined a little by having to stop and push the heels of her palms into her eyes to swipe away the tears that are making her vision too blurry to even see where she’s aiming. 

Katja’s hair is all messy from sleep, and Antiope instantly feels guilty for waking her up. The feeling only intensifies when Katja gently drops a flannel around Antiope’s shoulders. It’s still warm from how Katja balls it up and uses it as a pillow, and she doesn’t deserve this right now, doesn’t deserve her friend’s soft oversized shirt and the comfort it brings. 

“You’d do more damage with your bow, you know. Or swords. These are some weakass tactics, Jones,” Katja says, no real bite in the words. 

“I can’t—” Antiope starts, and then her own hitching breath cuts her off. She takes a deep shaky inhale, and Katja waits for her. “I can’t think of—of anything more pathetic than what I’m doing right now _except_ for unloading my quiver into my own pillow. I’d—I’d probably shred it and then where would I be.” She tries not to sound as frustrated as she feels—it’s not just about the bedroll—but her anger comes out anyway.

“I’m glad you still have standards,” Katja says, and Antiope feels more than sees through the tears her hover one hand over Antiope’s shoulder blade, hesitating. She shrugs, and Katja takes that as the okay to start rubbing small circles on her back. 

“You’d make a better leader than me any day, Katja, why the—why the _fuck_ am I doing this?” Antiope says quietly. She drops her fists into her lap, tired out, and tries to take another breath. Her friend’s hand is warm and comforting on her back through her flannel.

“Who’d’you actually want to be punching right now,” Katja asks instead of answering. It’s a question even though she doesn’t tip the end of the sentence up, just her low monotone.

Antiope shrugs, making an aborted motion with her hands like she can’t even begin to explain. “I don’t know. Penelope, but that’s—that’s always. Gorgug maybe, for hurting Zelda like that. Skrank, but don’t tell Danielle I said that. Or Ostentatia. Shit.” 

She’s expecting Katja to say something calming and persuasive, but her friend just pats her shoulder twice and says, “Don’t even lie, when we get home I’ll come with you and we should kick both those boys’ asses. I’m so fucking mad at them too.” 

“You are?” 

Katja Cleaver does not get “so fucking mad,” at least as far as Antiope knows. Katja Cleaver should be leading the Seven Maidens right now instead of her, because Katja plots strategically sound plans and mediates every morning and takes people apart with a greataxe as precisely as if it were a finesse weapon. She persuades people to the Maidens’ side when they need allies and reads dragonchess handbooks for fun and thinks that revenge is a dish best served cold with kippers on the side. Katja Cleaver doesn’t get “so fucking mad” at 4am for no good reason. Antiope twists around to look at her properly and realizes belatedly that Katja’s stopped rubbing circles on her back because her hands are clenched into fists in her lap, twins to Antiope’s own. 

“They don’t get to do this to us. They don’t get to do this to _you_ ,” Katja says, pointing with her chin at Antiope’s bedroll pathetically compacted against a rock by her fists. 

Antiope leans her head over to her best friend’s shoulder even though Katja’s too much taller than her for it to really work. She feels Katja scoot over a little and slouch to get to the right height. Antiope’s realizing belatedly that she’s tired (because it’s four am and she’s been emptying her strength into punching a stupid pillow in the desert, and she’s going to be wiped tomorrow which might put everyone in danger, and—)

Katja gives her a handkerchief (of course Katja has a handkerchief) and Antiope blows her nose, tries to take another deep breath. Even though she manages to hold it for three, the exhale’s still wobbly. 

“You wanna talk about it?” Katja asks. It’s her gently-calming-down-horses voice, and Antiope doesn’t really know how to feel about it being turned on her. 

Antiope just drops her hands into her lap helplessly. “Ostentatia and Danielle are fighting all the time and Zelda looks so small and scared of _them_ fighting and I don’t know how to make any of this better,” she says, and it’s like a torrent, like one of Sam’s stormy spells. She can feel tears pricking at her eyes again, a torrent of their own. “I can’t even do anything here except just be super aware of how dangerous this desert is, and Danielle and I don’t even really know how to deal with this place even though we’re supposed to, and I can just sense that there are dragonspawn _so close all the time_ , and it’s so dumb to be scared of dragons when we killed one.” She finds more in her to say, pouring it all out because this desert is too open and too honest. “And our whole party feels broken and I don’t know how to pull them back together and I can’t talk to _them_ about being scared because they told me to lead this thing and I can’t do this.”

It’s too many words and Antiope can’t meet Katja’s eyes. When her friend just puts a big arm around her shoulder and squeezes almost too tight, she sucks in a deep breath and tries to fight back even more tears, because she didn’t know she needed this. She squeezes Katja back and is probably getting tears on her flannel, but at least she doesn’t seem to mind that much. 

“I didn’t—I’m sorry we made you think you had to deal with it alone,” Katja says, quiet and low enough that it makes Antiope want to hold her breath to hear. (Which helps, actually, and she finds herself thinking about Katja’s meditation breathing exercises as she tries to calm her lungs from wanting to sob big and messy.) 

“You don’t have to do things just because you’re good at them,” Katja shrugs, “but you really are good at this.” She gives Antiope’s shoulder a little gentle shake. “You—you _care_ , or you wouldn’t be out here punching a pillow at ass o’clock AM, and I think we need that more than you being able to charm our friends into not being mad at each other or at boys who fuck with them.” 

“Caring fucking sucks,” Antiope spits with a shaky voice, angrier than she means, but she thinks she understands. 

“No, dragons fucking suck, and this giant desert where we’re supposed to find eggs fucking sucks, and dumbass boys fucking suck. You’re allowed to care,” Katja says, more forcefully. Like she doesn’t care if some kobold or megalomanic lizard hears her voice carrying out over the waste, maybe because she’s more confident than Antiope is that they could take it or maybe because she thinks it’s just that worth it for Antiope to hear it. Like Antiope deserves to be told this more than she needs to be scared out here in the scariest place she’s ever been. (And she’s counting the palimpsests, because there at least they could talk to one another between the crystals, and except for Katja at her side right now Antiope’s never felt so alone among her own party). 

She’s so _nice_ and it’s completely unreasonable to be so overwhelmed by it but Antiope starts sniffling again and Katja just hangs onto her shoulder through the hiccuping.

Her voice is too small under the desert sky as she says, “I’m so scared all the time and I hate it.” 

“They’re scary things. You can ask for help.” In her voice Antiope can hear Katja smile, the kind where her tusks poke out from behind it. “I can smack some dragon eggs for you. Or talk to Ostentatia and Danielle tomorrow.” (It’s today, really, but neither of them are that kind of pedantic.)

She makes herself get out the next sentence even though her breath hitches and cuts her off twice. “I’ll—I can talk to Danielle, you—you talk to Ostentatia?” Antiope doesn’t mean to make Katja do what she can’t even steel herself for. But it’s—it’s really nice to have backup. From Katja, who she trusts with this more than anyone. Who should probably be the one giving the orders, instead.

Katja reads her mind somehow and says, “I know you won’t believe it, but I’m so glad you’re making these calls instead of me. And yeah, I’ll do that for you. Of course.” Antiope wipes her eyes on the sleeve of Katja’s flannel and Katja just keeps circling her hand on her back through it. “We’ll get through it. _You’ll_ get through it.”

They sit there for a long while, both of their weapons lying abandoned on the metal-red ground as they watch cold stars wheel overhead. Katja keeps her arm steady around Antiope’s shoulders as her breathing slowly evens out and her tears dry on her cheeks. Antiope tries to offer her her handkerchief back but Katja shakes her head, _keep it_. 

When the sky barely starts to lighten Antiope sighs and says, “We should probably at least try to sleep.” She gives Katja a hand up even though they both know she doesn’t need it and Antiope is weaker even when she’s not shaky from crying for nearly an hour. 

Katja holds the tent flap open for her and they both do their best to sneak back in, but when Antiope ducks in she immediately freezes. Her heart drops because that’s Zelda, also awake now and looking up at the two of them from the corner of the tent like a deer in headlights. She’s clinging onto her crystal like a lifeline, her face all harsh blue light and weird uplit shadows from it. When Antiope notices the shadows around her bottom lip quivering she can’t tell at first if it’s because her hands holding the light are shaking or if she’s about to cry, but then Zelda scrambles across the tent to them and tackle-falls into Antiope’s arms and Antiope can feel rather than see her shoulders shake.

And then all three of them are holding each other before Antiope even really thinks about it. Sometimes she forgets how small Zelda is, just a sophomore for all her strength, and she fits right into her arms. Zelda pushes her nose into the crook of Antiope’s neck, into the softness of Katja’s flannel still around Antiope’s shoulders, and Antiope hugs her and holds on tight. 

“Thanks,” Zelda squeaks, and Antiope feels Katja let go from hugging the both of them for a second to gently mess with Zelda’s hair. 

“Anytime,” Antiope says, and she hears Katja echo it.

Antiope looks over Zelda’s head for a second at her other four best friends still asleep in a pile. Sam’s long blue hair splayed out everywhere over her sleeping bag pillow, Danielle’s fox’s paw stuck right in the druid’s face, Ostentatia’s limbs all tucked up into an impossibly tiny ball facing away, Penny’s smile even in her sleep. 

She and Zelda both sniffle and Katja graciously pretends not to notice, just rubs circles into Antiope’s back as Antiope does the same for Zelda in turn. For all the fight in them, they’re just three girls awake at an ungodly hour in a tent in an ungodly desert, but they’re holding each other and for a second it’s okay. Maybe in the night they’ve tripped something too big and too emotional for any of them to swing a sword at, but Antiope can hang on to them both and right now that’s enough. 

**Author's Note:**

> I've been having a lot of fun this weekend spiralling about the Seven Maidens character sheets on tumblr and so here I am writing fic about two characters who fully do not appear at all in canon. I fully banged this out in one sitting this afternoon and it is deeply self indulgent as well as possibly out of character (which, for characters who barely exist except for names and some D&D Beyond character sheets, is honestly maybe impressive), but I do hope you enjoy it despite it all.
> 
> I won't lie and tell you this isn't at least a little drawing from my own working-through-some-shit 4am angry crying sessions so if Antiope's emotions make no sense trust me :) I know :) it's about when you and your friends are both going through some shit but also in deeply incompatible and therefore isolating ways :) /hj
> 
> Title is from the song with the same title off Taylor Swift's _folklore_. This fic is fully not about what the song is about, but it's the title because I am basic and because this album contains very good songs to cry to. 
> 
> I simply think the Seven Maidens are both a very good and absurdly capable party to send to the Red Waste to take out their residual Kalvaxus rage on a bunch of dragon eggs but also a party that is deeply going through some rough shit while the Bad Kids are doing their own thing on spring break. 
> 
> They all deserve to be very angry but also to have friends who have their backs before all else! Let the three fighters just get into a big comforting teary group hug at an absurd hour of night! What are high strength scores for except to hug all your friends real tight! 
> 
> Comments and kudos are like a homecooked meal in the Red Waste to me, and I reply to every one :D
> 
> This fic is rebloggable [here](https://mordredmanor.tumblr.com/post/631115151135883264/this-is-me-trying-solasola-dimension-20-web) on my tumblr [@mordredmanor](https://mordredmanor.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
